Crossroads
by Kiyoko Michi
Summary: After decavorns under the ice, Skyfire wakes up to a very different universe and struggles to survive in a war he doesn't understand. Alone. Meanwhile, in the Autobot ship, a certain Seeker is recovering from his own stasis... (An AU in which Skyfire and Starscream crash in the storm and are discovered by different factions. Based on a prompt by officialbumblebee)
1. Awakenings

**Crossroads**

* * *

 **-SS-**

* * *

Starscream woke up slowly. His processer onlined in stages, like he was waking up from a deep recharge. He basked in the feeling and frowned when he noticed the deep ache infusing the back of his processer—the only discordant note present. He tried to stretch to relieve the gentle ache of stiff components, but he didn't get far. Metal cuffs held his limbs in place.

He onlined very quickly after that.

A truly appalling shade of orange met his optics. Cybertronian design, and not one he recognized

He jerked harder, scratching at the metal with his claws. The cuffs rattled but didn't give. Then strange hands pushed down on his shoulders, pressing him back against the berth. They belonged to a small red Grounder, hidden by a visor and mask. He was talking, trying to be soothing.

"—relax. I know you're confused, but you're safe now. Just calm down, and we can-"

Senseless drivel. Starscream snarled at him. "Let me go!" he tried to shout. Instead, his vocalizer gave a disturbing wheeze as newly integrated parts struggled, and he coughed.

The mech started—was he _petting_ him? Really? Eventually, glaring at the Grounder the entire time, Starscream regained control of his vocalizer. His voice still rasped when he tried speaking again, but it worked.

"Where is he," Starscream growled. His throat ached, but he forced the words through.

The Grounder's hand paused, and he tilted his head. "Where's who?" he asked. "You were alone when we found you."

Starscream bared his teeth. "My partner, slaggit!" Skyfire had been right beside him before the storm had torn them apart. "We crashed together. What did you do with him?"

The Grounder's hands froze then fell to his lap. "Oh," he said quietly. Fiddling with his fingers, "We stumbled upon you in this planet's Arctic Circle. After we found you, I'm afraid we…" He trailed off with a sad little mumble. If Starscream were a kinder mech, he might have felt sorry for the mech. Instead, he was only irritated.

"You _what?_ " he asked. "Spit it out already!"

If anything, the Grounder seemed to shrink even further into his seat. "We scanned the rest of the sector afterwards. There were no other life signals." A pause. "I'm sorry."

Starscream froze. His spark twisted in his chest, and his vocalizer emitted a deep, guttural sound of pain and disbelief. It took two tries before he managed to voice the words. "You're wrong," he said. "You… you messed up the scan. Skyfire has thicker armor than mine. He wouldn't have been offlined by some slagging _storm!_ "

The Grounder's visor dimmed with something disgustingly like pity. Starscream snarled as he reached out to touch his plating again. "I'm sorry," he said, voice absolutely dripping with sorrow. "This must be horribly difficult for-"

"Shut up!" Starscream howled, jerking as far away from the lying slagger as possible. "I don't need your pity!" He could keep his softsparked sympathy. Skyfire wasn't dead. He _wasn't._ These incompetent slaggers had just screwed everything up. Starscream just… He needed to go back. He'd find the crash site, get Skyfire back, and throttle the Shuttle for daring to do this. Then the world would go back to normal again.

Mind made up, Starscream tore at the cuffs with his claws. The metal bit deep enough to draw energon, but Starscream didn't even feel the pain. Beside him, the Grounder's voice was high with panic as he tried to pin him back against the berth. Starscream retaliated, digging his claws deep into the mech's plating, and he pulled back with a gasp of pain, cradling his arms to his chest.

A new voice cut in, deep and harsher with age. "That's it. I'm putting him back under," he said. Something stung Starscream's neck, there and gone just as quickly. Starscream's processer slowed, and he slipped gratefully back into unconsciousness.

 **~.*.~**

* * *

 **-SF-**

* * *

Pain exploded through Skyfire's frame, and, gasping, he slammed into consciousness. Jerking upright, he felt cables pull free from his frame, leaving throbbing ports behind. His processer ached fiercely, and his frame felt… strange. For some reason, his sensor net was only half calibrated, leaving his vision blurry and limbs uncoordinated. Something—some _one—_ moved beside him, and Skyfire focused his bleary optics on them, willing his static laden vision to clear.

"State your designation and affiliation," the mech said. The tone, clipped and stern, was the same one used by all harried medics. Skyfire shrank beneath it.

"My designation is Skyfire," he answered. "And… Iacon Academy, I suppose. I'm an Interstellar explorer funded by the organization."

His optics reset, and Skyfire's vision cleared enough to make out a heavyset, lime green mech standing before him. His glare, which was aimed at a datapad in his hand, was quite impressive.

"The Iacon Academy hasn't been functional in a long time."

Skyfire blinked, and disappointment curled in his chest. "I'm… sorry to hear that," he said. "I understand the energon crisis was worsening when we left, but I'd hoped a solution would be found before too much was lost."

They'd only been gone from Cybertron for a decavorn. The Academy had seemed too big to fall so quickly but, well… Many things had changed with the crisis. The fall of a single Academy, no matter how large or prestigious, was not unheard of.

The mech—medic, Skyfire revised, as he saw the mech's extensively upgraded hands—snorted. It was an unpleasant sound, haughty and darkly amused. Skyfire immediately disliked it.

"Sorry, but where am I?" Skyfire asked, glancing around. "According to my memory banks, my last location was in a small ice planet vorns away from the nearest Cybertronian outpost. How did I get here?"

He remembered the storm. There were the winds and the crash, when ice had immobilized his limbs and freezing liquid leaked into past his plating and into his internals, moving towards his processer and he couldn't—

Skyfire shied away from the memory. He was alive now. Safe. He just needed to find Starscream, and everything would be fine.

"We dug you up," the medic said. "You were in the way, and then _I_ got charged with the unpleasant task of preparing your damaged frame for reactivation. As if I don't already have enough problems to take care of!"

The mech kept grumbling under his breath, angrily enough that Skyfire didn't want to interrupt him. He waited a moment then, when the medic showed no signs of stopping, hesitantly asked, "Was there anyone else found with me?"

"Of course not, thank Primus," the mech sniped. "One unexpected 'guest' was more than enough."

Skyfire relaxed back onto the berth, smiling despite the medic's general unpleasantness. Starscream had made it out then. Thank Primus. He shouldn't have been worried—Starscream was a far better flyer than him; of course a small storm wouldn't have stopped him. He didn't seem to be here though, wherever 'here' was.

"And our location?" Skyfire prompted.

The medic grimaced. "We're still on the pathetic excuse for a planet that you crashed in. Despite it's absolutely repulsive landscape, the available energy sources are too valuable to ignore."

"But how did you-" Skyfire started, but he was cut off.

"I'm far too busy to answer all your inane questions," he snapped. "Unless your repairs start malfunctioning—which they _won't-s_ it there quietly until you find someone else to pester."

Meekly, Skyfire nodded. He was in an unfamiliar place, with a strange, grumpy mech, and he'd rather not annoy the medic who'd repaired him. Shifting awkwardly, Skyfire glanced around the room. He'd been, apparently, placed in a secluded corner of a busy med-bay. Mecha wove in and out of the room, barely sparing him a glance. It… felt military. Important, too.

"This the new guy?" someone asked right beside him.

Skyfire jumped and looked around, wondering how someone had snuck up on him, but didn't see anyone. Then he looked down. Two tiny mecha stared up at him, one red and one blue. Smaller than minibots, their helms barely reached the edge of the berth. Cassetticons, perhaps? He wondered where their Host was.

"I'm Skyfire," he said. "Who are you?"

"Rumble," the blue one said. "An' this is Frenzy." Then, swinging up to a chair, he hoped onto the berth. He whistled. "Wow. You really are a big guy, huh. You any good at fightin'?

Skyfire frowned but scooted over, giving the Cassetticons more room. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked.

Rumble snorted. "Fighting. Ya heard of it?," he asked dryly.

"Sorry, I think there's been some mistake," Skyfire said. "I'm an Interstellar explorer. A scientist, not a soldier."

The two exchanged glances. "Have you even _held_ a gun before?" Frenzy asked.

Skyfire cringed at the thought. "Of course not!" he said. Why were they so fixated on that? Just what was this place?

Both Cassetticons burst into laughter. "Ah, man, we picked up a _Civvie_! Buckethead is gonna _freak._ " He patted Skyfire's side, as high up as he could reach. Skyfire barely felt the touch. "I hope you've got _some_ useful skill at least, or you're not gonna last long."

Skyfire frowned, and trepidation built in his spark. He was about to ask the Cassetticons to elaborate, but they were interrupted when the medic from before stalked over.

"You! Scraplets!" he shouted, pointing at the tiny mecha. "You're in charge of our newest recruit. Try not to get him deactivated right away."

Both mecha groaned in unison. "Aw, C'mon!" Rumble whined. "What are we supposed ta do with him, huh? We got better things to waste our time with."

The medic was already turning away. "Slag if I care. Fob him off on someone else." Then he was gone, retreating back to the mysterious depths of the med-bay.

The two Cassetticons stared at him. Skyfire stared back. "C'mon. Let's blow this joint."

Skyfire had nothing better to do. He followed.

 **~.*.~**


	2. Discovery

**-SS-**

* * *

"Leave me alone."

Without even onlining his optics, Starscream flicked his wings at the intruder. He was curled atop the berth, wings shielding him from the rest of the room. Sometime while he'd been unconscious, the cuffs had been removed, not that it mattered. Where was he going to go?

The mech kept coming. Starscream continued ignoring him. He had a heavy tread—a large mech, then. Definitely a different one than earlier. The chair beside Starscream's berth creaked as he sat down. Growling, Starscream flared his wings in the most blatant, offensive gesture he knew, one even a Groundpounder could understand. The mech still didn't take the hint.

"May I at least have your designation?" the mech said. He had a deep voice, smooth and controlled. Starscream immediately hated it. The large frame, soothing voice, it was too much like… _no._

"Slag. Off," Starscream growled.

The mech sighed. Even that small sound was _infuriatingly_ composed, filled with an achingly familiar tone of mild disappointment. "Alright, then," he said. "I just need you to listen for a breem, and then I'll go, if that is your wish."

Stubborn, Starscream didn't dignify him with an answer.

"My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. I'm afraid you've been in stasis for a very, very long time."

-/-

The mech—the _Prime_ —lied. Nearly a full five breems passed before he finally stood and left Starscream in peace. Starscream didn't say a word. He didn't respond in any way, no matter how tempted he was to turn and attack the other mech. Eventually, _finally,_ he was gone, leaving a small datapad behind for him to 'research' with.

Prime—and that wasn't right, the Prime was _Sentinel_ , not this 'Optimus'—spun him an elaborate tale about a crisis and a war that stretched on for eons. It was a nice story, he supposed. One of good versus evil, ridiculous dramatics, and all that drivel.

He considered just leaving the datapad where it was. Refusing to play whatever game they were trying to pull. Yet, curiosity had always been a weakness of his. Eventually, it won out, and he reached over. Then he started to read

-/-

The datapad held proof. Centivorns of it, in official records and news reports. There were too many of them, each as detailed and elaborate as the last. Pictures showed the remnants of a gutted Cybertron and videos of battlefields. Starscream searched the datapad for cycles, until the lights dimmed and exhaustion tugged at his processer, but he barely even scratched the surface.

Then, gently, Starscream set the datapad back down. He started to laugh. Great, heaving burst of static and high-pitched laughter that sounded more like sobs.

Skyfire was dead, the world had gone to slag, and he was stuck in the middle of a war.

Wasn't it all just hilarious?

~.*.~

* * *

 **-SF-**

* * *

Somehow—he wasn't quite sure how—Skyfire ended up with two tiny mecha perched on his shoulders. Tinier fingers clutched at the seams of his armor and his helm for balance. Skyfire didn't mind, though their scrabbling fingers tended to tickle. And, with their faces right next to his helm, the Cassetticons seemed far louder.

"Over there!" Frenzy shrieked, practically bouncing on Skyfire's shoulder. He seemed inordinately gleeful about being tall enough to stare down at everyone else. Plenty of mecha were staring, though Skyfire didn't know whether they were staring at the Shuttle, the Cassetticons, or the unusual combination they made together.

"Frenzy. Rumble: Desist," an oddly mechanical voice said. The Twins froze. Frenzy squeaked.

"Ah, slag," Frenzy whispered. Skyfire turned, curious who had elicited such a dramatic reaction from the previously unflappable Twins. He was a blocky mech. Average height, with a smooth visor and mask covering his face. His chest was unusually large, even for this planet's bulky altmodes.

"Heeey, Soundwave," Rumble said, smiling weakly. Concerned, Skyfire raised a hand to steady the tiny mech. Just who was this 'Soundwave?' Despite his unassuming build and unreadable disposition, he practically radiated authority.

Soundwave tilted his head. "Query: new recruit?" he asked.

Rumble straightened, resting an oddly possessive arm against Skyfire's helm. "He's ours. Hook gave 'em to us." He grinned. "Can we keep him, Boss? I've always wanted a pet."

Skyfire ignored the pet comment, focusing on the "Boss" one instead. So this was the Twins' Host. It explained the bulky chest.

"Negative." Soundwave stated. "Recruit: must report to Thundercracker for evaluation."

The Twins groaned. "Aw, c'mon, the Air Commander won't want him. He's useless! Never even fired a blaster before! Slag knows what he was doing in that ice."

"Hey," Skyfire objected, mildly insulted. "I'm an Interstellar explorer and an energon production specialist."

" _Energon_ production?" Rumble repeated, growing serious for a moment. Then the mischievous smirk returned. "Maybe they'll find a use for you after all. Slag. I was looking forward to having a pet."

"I dunno," Frenzy cut in. "Not sure how good of a explorer he coulda been to end up crashed like that. And why was he alone? I thought all explorers came in a pair."

Skyfire frowned. "I did have a partner. He's a far better flyer than I am. He would have escaped the storm and returned home." Skyfire paused as another thought struck him. "Do you know how I can get a message back to Iacon? I need to let him know I'm alright. He'll be sick with worry." Or, more likely, grief, which made Skyfire's spark ache to consider. His internal 'com system was still broken, not that it mattered. It wouldn't have been nearly strong enough to reach back home.

Nobody answered him. Rumble and Frenzy stared up at him with twin expressions of horror.

"What?" Skyfire asked, self-conscious and growing concerned.

They exchanged several strange glances and expressions, as if having a silent argument. Rumble half-shoved Frenzy, then the blue minicon hissed something—a threat? A bribe?—in Rumble's ear. He winced, and Frenzy smirked, giving him a little shove forward.

"Uh…." Rumble stuttered. "I… don't think that's a good idea."

Skyfire glanced between them, concern blossoming into true fear. "Why? What's going on?" he asked. Uncomfortable silence followed once again, until Soundwave broke it.

"Partner: likely deactivated," he said. "Great War: decimated population."

Skyfire's spark plummeted. Numbly, he opened his mouth—to argue, or ask a question, _something—_ but only static emerged. His legs shook, nearly giving out, and he collapsed heavily into a nearby chair, which creaked under his weight.

"You're wrong," he managed to croak. "Starscream was—He wouldn't have-"

"Iacon: destroyed during the War. Survivors: few."

Skyfire kept shaking his head, though no more words emerged. Iacon? The entire _city_ —the Capital of Cybertron, even? How could they destroy an entire city? He'd been there, walking among the Grand Citadelsof the Academy and flying amid its spires only a few vorns ago. It couldn't be gone, just like that.

And Starscream—Primus, Starscream. He couldn't have— _no._ He was too strong for that. Too _vibrant._

Please, no.

~.*.~


	3. Alone

**-SS-**

* * *

"I'm so glad you decided to join us! I mean, not that being a Neutral is bad or anything, but we'll be able to help you so much better now!"

Starscream resisted the urge to touch his chest, where the Autobot brand now sat. Not that he could feel anything—the 'brand,' as they called it, was nothing more than a circle of reprogrammed paint nanites. Beside him, the chatterbox—some grey Praxian—kept going, talking about how 'nice' all the Autobots were and how 'happy' they'd be to meet him as he led Starscream to his new quarters.

Starscream barely managed not to snap back at him. He didn't _care_ about these strangers and, right now, he wanted nothing to do with them.

The brand had been… an unpleasant necessity. Apparently, remaining 'neutral' meant he'd have zero clearance and would be kept in the dark about everything.

Slag _that_.

Taking the brand just meant he had to obey orders and not pick any fights. Which… he'd manage. Probably. And the Prime (the new one, which was slagging _strange_ ) was a complete softspark. All he'd had to say was that he wanted some time to get 'acclimated' to the new time, and the mech had practically fallen over himself trying to help him. He'd been so fragging happy about it too, like Starscream agreeing to join them was the best thing ever.

Crazy mech.

 _Finally_ , the chatterbox stopped in front of an unremarkable room. He slid the unlocked door open and turned to Starscream with a smile. "These'll be you're new quarters! It's at the end of the regular rooms so, if you need any help, you can just-"

Starscream cut him off. "Yeah, great. Thanks for bringing me here," he said without any enthusiasm. Then he stepped inside and shut the door in the Praxian's face without a smidge of guilt.

The resulting silence was a blessing. Nobody talking to him. Nobody _watching_. Starscream let his forehead rest against the door, and his shoulders and wings finally slumped out of their rigid hold. Without bothering to turn on the lights, Starscream turned around and stumbled to the berth, practically falling into it.

Tomorrow he'd figure things out. He'd play nice with these 'Autobots' and find out what he was dealing with. He would carve out a place here until they couldn't afford to throw him away.

Tonight, though, he just lay on his new berth and tried very hard not to think.

-/-

Cycles later, Starscream woke up to the sound of polite rapping on the door. Groaning, Starscream tried to bury his head back into the berth. The sound continued, slightly louder. Starscream glared blearily at the door then determinately turned away. It was too early for this slag.

The next time, the knocking was accompanied by the screech of a door chime, discordant enough it had to be intentional. Starscream huffed and tried to trigger recharge again, but it wouldn't come. The incessant noise from the door refused to leave him in peace.

"'Fire," Starscream groaned. "Leave me alone. I'm not-"

Memory returned with a jolt. It wasn't Skyfire. Couldn't be because—

No, no, _no_ , he refused to go through that again. He was _Starscream_. He didn't do _weak_ , and he sure as slag didn't hide away from anything. The next tie the door chime rang, Starscream reluctantly pushed himself out of bed. He grimaced. His wings were scuffed from the low quality berth—definitely _not_ designed with Seekers in mind—and his joints ached faintly.

He stumbled towards the door, then took a moment to compose himself. Even if he didn't have the time or materials to make himself presentable, he wouldn't let any of these strangers see him rattled again. The door controls were unfamiliar, but a solid smack sent the doors sliding open.

The grey Praxian from before was standing there, hand still upraised to knock.

"The slag do you want?" Starscream grumbled.

The hand fell down immediately, to hide almost sheepishly behind the Praxian's back. "I wanted to check on you?" he tried, wingtips flickering in clear nervousness. "I mean, it's been over half a solar cycle since I last saw you, and I've been asking around but _nobody_ else had seen you either—and I knowthey would have remembered you!—so I wanted to check on you. I mean, there's no energon in here, so I figured you gotta be hungry. And then I realized nobody'd even shown you the way to the rec-room, which wasn't good, and I-"

The mech just kept talking. Starscream was almost impressed. Not enough to stop the growing swell of irritation in his spark though. Yet, when he opened his mouth to tell the softspark to slag off, something stopped him.

He'd told himself he'd start being 'nice' to the Autobots today, hadn't he? Now, with his mood already soured and the prospect of actual interaction in front of him, Starscream was questioning that decision. Yet... He'd survived in Iacon by making himself irreplaceable, no matter how much his peers had hated him. He didn't like the idea of starting over, especially without Sky—any allies to help bail him out if things went sour, but it had to be done regardless. Besides, his tanks were getting rather empty

"Fine," Starscream gritted out. "Show me where this 'rec room' is." Then, after a moment's pause, "And what's your designation anyway?"

A grin split the mech's face. "Bluestreak!" he chirped. Then, still beaming, he stepped away from the doorway and kept chattering. Starscream followed him, barely grumbling at all. This time, the hallway wasn't empty. He didn't miss the stares as he walked down the hallway. Nor the hushed whispers just below audio range. Starscream kept his helm high and his wings extended as wide as they could, as if daring anyone to comment.

~.*.~

* * *

 **-SF-**

* * *

'Com systems were strictly monitored and forbidden for any unranked soldier. No exceptions.

Skyfire tried. Multiple times. He _begged_ for the chance to make a single call. For a list of survivors. It didn't work. Desperate, he tried to sneak in. He had the coding skills to hack the door, and he spent half an orn preparing. Didn't even make it into the hallway before another Cassetticon—a quadruped, this time—herded him away. He wouldn't give up. Couldn't think of anything that would work.

Locked inside his cramped quarters, Skyfire fiddled with the energon cube in his hand and took a long draught. It wasn't high-grade, much as he wished it was. Apparently, that was yet another thing this time lacked. He wanted the oblivion of overcharge. Wanted to dull the thoughts that swirled inside his processer, questions and fear and panic strong enough to drown his spark.

Starscream couldn't be dead. He _couldn't_.

Offlining his optics, Skyfire pushed back the terror clawing at his chest. If anyone could survive the war, it was Starscream. He was a survivor. Always had been. Starscream was the best flyer Skyfire had ever known and an expert at getting out of rough spots. He was the kind of mech who'd learned how to fight on the ground so he could beat the Iaconians who'd disapproved of his presence.

Starscream had always refused to accept defeat, and he would fight the universe itself if he had to. He would have joined the war and fought, would have survived everything it had thrown at him.

Skyfire just had to find him. That was all. He just needed a _chance_.

~.*.~


	4. Settling In

**Chapter 4: Settling In**

* * *

 **-SS-**

* * *

"Ah, come on, Sunny. If we just switch out the stabilizer, we can double the output no problem!"

Starscream froze with his energon cube halfway to his lips. Then he returned it to the table without taking a sip. Two mecha, one bright red, the other yellow, sat at a table near the isolated corner Starscream had claimed as his own. Their voices carried easily in the mostly empty room.

His first visit to the rec-room had been… thoroughly underwhelming: a blur of curious faces, grasping hands, and suspicious stares and- Well. He'd elected to avoid the room during its busy hours after that. It was the best way to avoid clawing out the optics of whatever idiots thought swarming a strange Seeker was a good idea.

The room was never completely empty though. And, every so often, he managed to stumble upon something interesting. Starscream eavesdropped shamelessly on the other mecha's conversation. They were discussing some kind of energon production—something about geothermal energy and modified energy sinks. Within a klik, Starscream had figured out they were talking about high-grade production, and an illegal still at that.

To be fair, they weren't complete amateurs. Obviously they were soldiers not scientists—and Frontliners too, judging by their armor and inbuilt weaponry—but they definitely knew the basics of energon distillation. Starscream sipped at his energon, for once feeling almost… calm. This, at least, was familiar. It wasn't the Academy—wasn't even close—but there was an echo of it in the way the two mecha debated their project.

Then they started talking about an adjustment to maximize output, and Starscream's almost pleasant mood immediately soured. He managed to hold it in for another klik. Then, after one _particularly_ boneheaded suggestion, he snapped.

"Don't you dare!" he hissed, shooting out of his seat and stalking over to the would-be bootleggers. "If you try to reroute the energy like that, you'll slag up the entire energy sink! Keep forcing it, and you'll blow the entire setup! Literally!"

The red mech gaped at him, cube forgotten halfway to his mouth. Starscream, slamming his own cube down and looming over their table, continued.

"And another thing! Why the slag are you morons still using the diffractive Straxian setup? That inefficient model was outdated the last time _I_ was on Cybertron!"

The yellow one—Sunny, he'd been called—stood, crossing his arms and trying to loom over Starscream. "And you can do better?" he challenged.

Starscream threw his head back and laughed. "I was an Interstellar Explorer and Energon specialist," he said, watching as the other mech bristled at his tone. "I could make something twice as good while I was still a youngling." The best part was, it was true. Sure he'd barely been able to reach some of the parts and had nearly burned the lab down, but he'd succeeded. The energon it produced had even been edible, more or less.

Sunny growled and stepped forward, but the red one stopped him with a look. He watched Starscream with considering optics. Then he took a datapad out of his subspace and swung it towards him.

"Prove it," he said. The datapad was full of schematics.

With a sharp, toothy grin—almost a snarl—Starscream sat down, grabbed the datapad, and he did.

 _~.*.~_

* * *

 **-SF-**

* * *

Before the war, Skyfire had rarely seen other Seekers. He'd lived in Iacon, after all, where few Flyers lived and even fewer Warbuilds. Starscream had been an anomaly; most Seekers stayed in Vos, bound there by ties of Trine and kinship. Even back then, Iacon had been lukewarm towards Seekers.

Here, though, in the backend of nowhere and with Starscream missing, there were Seekers. Dozens of them.

The irony made him want to laugh. Or cry.

Being a Shuttle apparently put him in the same class as all the other Flyers, for all the sense lumping Civilian and Military builds together made. He was placed under the Air Commander, a blue and black Seeker named Thundercracker. Neither was happy about it. Skyfire because seeing another Seeker _hurt_ , and Thundercracker because, well…

Evaluation wasn't going so well.

Skyfire stared at the blaster—more of a cannon, really—that had been thrust into his arms. Then, gingerly, he pinched the handle between two fingers, lifted it up, and set it carefully back on the table.

"No."

Thundercracker glared at him, wings flared in irritation. He picked the blaster back up and tried to push it back into Skyfire's arms. Skyfire flinched away, and the weapon clattered to the ground. Thundercracker's expression darkened. "If you're going to be under my command, you need to know how to fire a blaster," he said.

Skyfire nudged the blaster further away with his foot. "No," he repeated. "I won't—I _can't_ do it." Just thinking of holding the weapon made him feel sick. Actually firing it—especially _at another mech_ —was out of the question. His very spark rebelled at the idea.

Thundercracker sighed and picked it back up. His hand fit confidently around the metal. "We're at war. If you don't fight, you'll die."

Skyfire couldn't meet his optics. With a sigh—almost a growl-Thundercracker turned and walked away.

Skyfire didn't stop him.

-/-

"Here."

Skyfire jumped when a datapad was thrust in front of his face. He glanced up to find Thundercracker staring down at him. Even sitting, Skyfire was barely shorter than the Seeker. He gingerly took the datapad. "What's this?"

"Your new orders. Don't slag these ones up too."

He left without a backward glance, thrusters clicking against the floor.

Curious, Skyfire turned back to the datapad. Activated it. There were transfer papers there. For several long moments, Skyfire could just stare at the large glyphs, stunned. Then he kept reading.

He was, apparently, being moved to the labs as a minor assistant. Grunt work at best.

Skyfire set the datapad down on the table. Then, a klik later, moved it to his subspace, where it would be safe. Gratitude lit up his spark. He didn't have to hold a blaster in the labs Didn't have to fight.

"Thank you," Skyfire whispered, though Thundercracker was long gone.

~.*.~


	5. Experiments in Socialization

Chapter 5: Experiments in Socialization

* * *

 **-SS-**

* * *

One thing led to another, and Starscream found himself in the Twins' quarters, eyeing the half-made high grade still they'd hidden there. It was… acceptable, he supposed.

Starscream could do a lot better than 'acceptable.'

"Get me a good toolset, and I'll fix this thing up right," Starscream ordered. Sideswipe, practically bouncing in glee, raced to find one, and Starscream gave the machine a closer inspection. He acknowledged Sideswipe with a distracted nod when he returned, grabbed a wrench, and started to work.

Sideswipe joined him, though Sunstreaker seemed content to watch. Starscream watched him work for a moment before deciding he probably wouldn't mess anything up. When Starscream stopped Sideswipe from soldering the wrong connection, he actually thanked the Seeker instead of getting upset about the correction. It was… strange. Starscream was actually enjoying working with them. Then, of course, Sideswipe opened his mouth to 'socialize.'

"So how'd a Seeker like you end up at the Academy?" he asked.

Starscream's hand clenched on the wrench in his palm, and he briefly considered chucking it at the Frontliner. Unfortunately, the projectile—and subsequent brawl—might damage the still, and Starscream had put in too much work to ruin it now. Instead, he pushed out from where he'd been sprawled under the machine and glared up at Sideswipe.

"What, 'cause Seekers are supposed to stay in Vos and head straight to the War Academy?" he asked, clambering to his feet and flaring his wings. "We're not 'allowed' to do normal things like study energon production?"

Sideswipe blanched and stumbled through an apology. Sunstreaker cuffed him upside the head. "What my Twin meant to ask was why you decided on Iacon. The Capital was one of the worst places for Flyers or warbuilds."

Mollified slightly, though only slightly, Starscream said, "You speaking from experience?"

Sunstreaker shrugged. "It was long before the war. We didn't stay in Iacon for long."

An interesting tidbit, though unsurprising. The Twins were warframes; Iacon certainly wouldn't have welcomed them either. Thumbing the wrench again, Starscream returned to work. Breems passed as the awkward silence slowly turned comfortable again, punctuated by periodic grunts and orders.

Then, surprising even himself, Starscream said, "Iacon's Academy was the best. Everyone said I couldn't get in." He smiled, snapping a particularly stubborn cable into place. "I proved them wrong. I crushed all of them." He'd been better than every single mecha that tried to stop or replace him. Eventually, he'd forced them all to admit it.

Humming tunelessly, Starscream lost himself in the work. It was an easy design—simple. He'd built dozens like it over the vorns, with far worse material and more difficult resources to draw from. Everything went fine for several more breems. Then Sideswipe jumped back with a pained, bitten off curse and stared at the still with wild optics.

"Uh, Starscream?" he called, clutching his slightly singed fingers. "It started smoking. I really, really don't think it's supposed to be smoking.'

Starscream shot up, and he followed Sideswipe's gaze to the far end of the machine. Which was literally on fine. And it was spreading.

"Oh slag, run." Starscream shot out. They almost made it through the door before the explosion thundered past them. The sound came first, scrambling Starscream's audios. Then the shockwave and heat. Starscream was nearly thrown off his feet, and he remained standing through sheer force of will. The Twins weren't so lucky. Sideswipe lost his balance and tumbled down. His flailing arm tripped Sunstreaker, sending them both flying. They skidded to a stop in the middle of the hallway, dazed and groaning in a graceless lump.

Behind them, the doorway was scorched and still steadily leaking smoke. Nothing a new coat of paint couldn't fix, surprisingly. He doubted the room itself had been as lucky.

Sideswipe poked his head up. "Oh slag, close the door," he hissed. "Before-"

"WHEELJACK!" Someone roared from several hallways down. The voice echoed across the ship. Despite the distorted echo, it reminded him of the grumpy red Medic from before.

The Twins were already standing, helping each other up and wiping away the scorch marks. Starscream dove forward and smacked the keypad, closing the door with a slight screech. If you ignored the lingering, acrid scent of smoke, you'd never know something had happened. Soon enough, other mecha joined them, searching for the source of the explosion. Sideswipe, who'd managed a very good expression of mildly concerned curiosity, mingled with them.

The next time they were alone, Starscream sidled up next to him. "So who's this Wheeljack?" he asked.

Sideswipe grinned. "Only our very own mad scientist. He specializes in energy and experimental weapons. Many of which explode spectacularly and send him to the med-bay every few orns." He paused, eyeing Starscream speculatively. "I think you guys would get along. I'll introduce ya to him later."

Starscream nodded, interest reluctantly piqued. Sideswipe seemed like a good judge of character, but he'd reserve judgement until he actually met the mech. Chances were he'd hate him, like most other smug scientists he'd known.

~.*.~

* * *

 **-SF-**

* * *

More often than not, Skyfire took his energon alone. Occasionally he was joined by the Cassettes or other curious mecha. Some were pleasant company, others less so. As a whole, though, the Decepticons had fought together for many vorns, and they were largely suspicious of Skyfire's presence. Skyfire didn't mind overly much. He'd always been better at observing than socializing anyway.

Several new Seekers poured into the rec room, grimy and somewhat scorched. Returning patrols, most likely. They must have gotten into a scuffle with the… Autobots, was it? Whatever their opponents called themselves. Most of them were undamaged, save for small scrapes their self-repair could easily handle. One, though, a streamline green mech, had his wing angled oddly, as though the joint had been damaged. Concerned, Skyfire leaned forward for a better look. A ragged tear ran down the center of the Seeker's wing, dangerously close to the joint. The surrounding plating was scorched deeply enough to destroy the color nanites.

Taking a deep gulp of energon, Skyfire tried to ignore it. The stranger wasn't his problem. Yet... he couldn't stop glancing over. Wounds like that shouldn't be allowed to fester. Especially not wing damage.

Finally, Skyfire gave in. Subspacing his half-empty cube, he walked over. A few mecha stared, cautious of his size, but most simply ignored him. He paused behind the green Seeker, who hadn't noticed his arrival, before tapping his undamaged shoulder.

The Seeker jumped and spun around, baring his teeth and wings, though the motion must have irritated the damage. "Who the slag are you?" he spat.

Skyfire backed up, holding his hands up in supplication. "You're hurt," he said simply. "I have some medical training. I can help, if you wish."

Instead of abating, the Seeker's wary suspicion only grew. "What are you trying to play at?"

Before Skyfire could answer, the Seeker was joined by two more: his Trinemates. They flanked their damaged member protectively, blocking his damaged wing entirely from view. "I think you should leave," one of them growled. His claws were out—the other two's as well.

Skyfire just nodded and stepped away. "As you wish," he said softly. Then, ignoring their dumbstruck expressions, he turned to go. Before he made it a dozen steps, one of them called out—the green mech.

"Wait."

Skyfire stopped. The damaged Seeker was staring at him, arms crossed. He had a wary edge to his frame, but it wasn't outright aggressive anymore.

"Any funny business, and I'll eviscerate you myself," the Seeker warned.

Skyfire nodded. With both Trinemates watching his every move, he repaired the damage and applied a pain patch. Then he left. He finished his cube alone, in the too-small quarters he'd been assigned. He'd never even learned the green mech's designation.

Still... Skyfire smiled as he flipped through a datapad, one of several historical ones he'd found. He'd done something good today. He'd really helped someone, for the first time since he'd woken up.

It was a good feeling.

~.*.~


End file.
